The lost brother
by csfcsf
Summary: John is on his way to meet Sherrinford, the third and oldest of the Holmes brothers when Sherlock is kidnapped. Can John team up with another Holmes in order to rescue Sherlock in time? A nicer approach on the third Holmes. (Because you can never have enough Holmes brothers, apparently.)
1. Chapter 1

_A/N:_

_«You know what happened to the other one.» I'm accepting the leap that it refers to an older brother that ACD never mentioned, as is somewhat popular belief. What could that mean?_

_I had no justification. In June I wrote a dark Sherrinford Holmes, slightly Noir Era inspired (at least in my mind) because the idea formed itself in my head. Then, as I was ready to defend myself, I realized a nice Sherrinford was actually possible, refuting my earlier beliefs._

_Just for symmetry – and a challenge – I started on a nice Sherrinford Holmes, keeping the format: 21 chapters around 500 words each. The style is fairly different._

_This project got on hold and, unfortunately, right now it's easier for me if I upload these first chapters and then see what I can do about then, rather then wait to finish them first. I wouldn't place them here if I didn't think they'd have a fair shot at getting done (I'm fairly undiagnosed OCDed, and this will just wrinkle my nerves in ways I cannot explain easily)._

_Again, there you go – if this is your cup of tea, an unofficial version of (a nicer) Sherrinford Holmes. Granted, it starts slow, but it's meant to be lighter than my other story._

_Hopefully I'm again wrong and Sherrinford Holmes is presented - if he is - as none of these. Honestly, I like being surprised. -csf_

_Disclaimer____: I own none of these characters or their previous feats._

* * *

_**.**_

John Watson opened the front door of his nice suburbs home at the first light of dawn and the insistent tapping of a familiar rhythm.

'Sherlock, I just got out of a fourteen hour shift at the A&E. Unless someone's life is at stake, can we leave this to later?' he asked the tall, well groomed man impatiently waiting at the other side of the door.

'You're still wearing night clothes, John', he depreciated, agitated as always with a big case on his hands.

'I just got them on, I told you I just got home. Didn't you hear me, Sherlock?'

'No time for small talk, John. We're leaving on the next train to Yorkshire.'

'No, we're not', John assured him as stiffly as he was confused. He stood aside in the very last second, or Sherlock would have crashed against him as he entered the Watson's house with the usual familiarity (and, yes, lack of understanding of personal space concepts).

Sherlock frowned. 'You need coffee. You sleep too much. Where's your kitchen?'

John figured that if any division in the Watson's household was a mystery to the consulting detective it'd be the one where the body parts were missing to complete Sherlock's definition of the room's utility.

'Sherlock, I really mean it. I can't...' John started, in vain. Sherlock was already assaulting his kitchen.

Now footsteps alerted John to Mary coming down to meet them.

'John? Is it Sherlock?' she understood, with half a smile.

John looked slowly over his shoulder to the kitchen. 'Must be. Acts like him, talks fast like him, even wants to take me on a case without letting me sleep.' He sighed.

Mary giggled. 'Can't be him, if he's actually making coffee for you, John.'

John nodded, happily surprised as he glanced over at the kitchen.

Then he heard him. 'John, isn't coffee supposed to be liquid? Your coffee seems to have dried inside a tin. It's all crumbly... John, was your kettle supposed to be this hot? Are red areas on the skin second or third degree burns?'

John raised an eyebrow and hasted to the kitchen where his medical needs were required.

Sherlock was waiting safely, leaning against the counter, holding out a mug of hot coffee. If John didn't know better he'd say the detective was fondly smiling. 'Just teasing you, John. You seem awake enough now. Can we finally go?'

'Why are you so sure I'll say Yes?'

He admitted a full smirk. 'Because I know you well enough, John. Runny nosed surgery patients with aching backs and flues can only keep you so interested until I came up with...'

'... Dead people?' John pretended to help him, as he took the coffee.

'Well, yes. Sometimes. Most times. There was that smuggling ring, and those kidnappings, too.'

'I remember. So which is it this time, Sherlock?'

'Family visiting, John.'

'What? Who's family?' John was confused again. 'Mine or yours?' Sherlock just tilted his head to the side. Not enough coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

_**.**_

John was sleeping, therefore John was boring. The train was keeping a steady pace along the tracks so Sherlock figured the doctor wasn't missing much anyway. As they were now arriving on location, he could finally awake the overworked doctor without him being upset.

'John, are you awake?'

'No.' Sherlock smirked. John rolled his head against the back of the seat and opened his eyes lazily. 'Are we there yet?'

'Just about. Slept enough, John?'

'No.'

'You never were very nice in the mornings, John. Or late evenings. Or afternoons, for that matter.'

'Fine, thanks, I get it...' The train was finally halting in the station. 'What are we doing here, Sherlock?'

'Meeting my brother.'

'Couldn't we meet Mycroft back in London?' John looked all around, worried now. 'Are we being followed? Is that why we had to leave London?'

'Forget London, John. We came here to meet my other brother, Sherrinford.'

'You have another brother, Sherlock?' He nodded. 'There are three of you?' Another nod. 'And your brother is called "Sherrinford Holmes"?' John repeated.

'Do keep up... Why?' he sensed something.

'Nothing. Not an ordinary name, that's all. But then again, neither is "Sherlock". Or "Mycroft".'

'He's not an ordinary person either. Spent the last three years among the Tibetan monks.'

John glanced at the landscape outside, for a second. _It rang a bell_. Then he understood. Along Sherlock's tear down of Moriarty's network, he passed through Tibet, Sherlock had mentioned once. It made more sense, now. That after exiling himself from his beloved London, Sherlock would end up approaching this lost brother. Family. Common ground. That somehow made John a bit happier about those hard times on Sherlock (and John, in a different way), that Sherlock had been close to people that cared about him. A pit stop in the hard fight that had almost run him down in ways that even today Sherlock would evade recounting to John.

'What made him come back, then?' was the natural extension for John to ask. He tried to pretend how close it was from asking why Sherlock himself had chosen to return when he could have found refuge with family in far away Tibet.

Sherlock rolled his shoulders exaggeratedly. 'Mummy asked Sherrinford to drop by more often. She seems to think he's the perfect son...'

John laughed good-humouredly. 'Sherlock, are you jealous of your brother?'

He frowned a bit too much. 'No.'

'Right', John played along. 'Wait a minute, if you came here to meet your brother, that is fine, I'm glad you are engaging in family matters, but, honestly... what _am I_ doing here?'

'Helping me save Sherrinford's life, John.'


End file.
